


Your Eyes Will Be Opened

by AM Slaughter (PoisonWrites)



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Biblical Scripture References (Abrahamic Religions), Blow Jobs, Falling In Love, First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, Hair Kink, Hair-pulling, Light Angst, M/M, Questioning, Sexuality Crisis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2020-06-28 09:00:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19809034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoisonWrites/pseuds/AM%20Slaughter
Summary: Things aren't making sense to Aziraphale; they haven't since the flood. Crowley is there, of course, but whether he's helping or hurting, Aziraphale can't decide. What Aziraphale does know is that he wants the demon, one way or another.AKA, Crowley and Aziraphale decide they have a lot more in common than they thought after the Crucifixion.





	Your Eyes Will Be Opened

**Author's Note:**

> “You will not certainly die,” the serpent said to the woman. “For God knows that when you eat from it your eyes will be opened, and you will be like God, knowing good and evil.”Genesis 3, 4-5. 
> 
> \--
> 
> I was sitting around one day, trying to thinking of when I HC'ed the husbands first having sex. This was the result. Enjoy!

It was with solemn hearts that Aziraphale and Crowley walked back into town that night, drinking their weight in wine and sharing stories with the locals. Golgotha was small and quiet, more-so than usual after the crucifixion. A fire crackled in the corner of the hut the men chatted in, only barely illuminating their faces.

Aziraphale felt heavier than he had in a while. Not because his heaven-issued body was filling out due to unholy amounts of bread and wine, but because things still weren’t making sense. He had thought, however naive, that the crucifixion would give him an answer. Clarity.

Instead, it just felt like the unjust killing of a kind, young man. 

Next to him on the dirt floor, Crawley-er,  _ Crowley _ \- sat, chatting about something inane to a disciple. Maybe there was some temptation, deep down in his words, but to the angel, it sounded as though he were simply discussing the teachings of Christ. 

Him and Crowley had never spent so much time together. There was the time before the flood, where they would see each other in passing, and the bits and pieces in the Garden before it came crumbling down. That wasn’t enough time to really get to know someone, especially a  _ demon _ , but here, in a mud hut, in front of the fire, the  _ demon _ seemed to think it was enough.

The thing was, angels weren’t big on physical contact. There was sometimes the odd standing-way-too-close exchange, but other than that, angels preferred to keep their distance. Maybe Crowley had forgotten that after his fall, or maybe he had spent too much time downstairs with the humans. 

Oh, yes, humans loved being close to one another. Loved to press their lips together, thread fingers through fingers, lips down chests and up thighs and—well, God  _ apparently _ only included the bits to be there to make more humans, but the wily lot had found so many more ways to entertain themselves. Found out that apparently a finger here or a tongue there felt not just good but  _ right _ . 

And that’s where this all stopped making sense to Aziraphale. Why would God give humans the ability to love one another, to discover touching and kissing, if He didn't want them sinning? Why drown them all, and kill their sons and daughters if He  _ didn’t  _ want them making choices. And if God didn’t want to be questioned, why was Aziraphale even  _ thinking _ like this in the first place? Why was He allowing him to sit next to a demon and enjoy the human pleasure of the warm feeling of intoxication?

Crowley stirred next to him, and his long curls brushed Aziraphale’s shoulder. Angels certainly weren’t big on contact, but with each sip of the wine that he took, Crowley seemed to be moving closer. 

His hair smelled like brimstone. 

He was also, as Aziraphale began to notice as the inches were lost between the fire, warm. And not warm like he imagined hellfire, but warm like the hearth fire, but somehow sparking, giving off small flecks of indiscernible emotion. Probably something demonic, which was why Aziraphale found himself unable to move away. 

“‘Ziraphale.” Crowley slurred, and he tipped his head over to rest on the angel’s shoulder. Stray strands of fiery hair tickled his nose. Aziraphale lifted a hand to brush them away, but somehow gravity decided just then to take effect, and his hand moved down into the demon’s curls.

There was a strange series of events that happened in the span of seconds. The retelling may not be exactly accurate, but if you asked Aziraphale what happened in those moments, he would have spluttered, and denied anything. 

What  _ did _ happen, however, was that when Aziraphale’s hand drifted from his own face, into Crowley’s hair, Crowley had made a  _ sound _ . Not a cough or a clearing of the throat, but a small, almost indiscernible noise that was best described as a sigh. Or, worse, a moan. 

Aziraphale did not withdraw his hand. Which was a bad idea, because, he imagined, that if he had removed his hand (or not put it there in the first place), Crowley would not have tilted his head up, and whispered with hot breath ghosting across his neck, “Walk you home, Angel?”

The angel was not yet practiced in the art of “sobering-up”, so when Crowley looked up at him, eyes golden and swimming in the firelight, Aziraphale nodded. This caused the demon to nuzzle in closer, just briefly, and smile against Aziraphale’s neck. The weight of the demon, the wine, the fire, it all felt like he was sitting at the bottom of a bath, unable and unwilling to move. What was his choice in this, really?

As Aziraphale was just getting used to the demon’s breath on his neck, Crowley stood, adjusting the dark hood around his head. He bade goodnight to the men surrounding them, and then offered his companion a hand. Aziraphale took it, chasing the infernal warmth which had left him.

The walk back to Aziraphale’s own hut was a short one, just a pop down a dirt road and through the small village. Above the pair, the night sky shone bright enough to guide their way. More than once, Crowley reached out and steadied Aziraphale along the path, which made him feel rather powerless against the demon, should he begin wiling at any point. That is, he  _ did  _ feel powerless until Crowley nearly ran into a tree, and Aziraphale had to dart an arm out to catch him. 

“Crowley, are you…?”

“Don’t look so shocked, Angel, I’ve had just as much to drink as you!” Aziraphale released Crowley and continued his journey homeward.“And-and what about you? Isn’t partaking in wine supposed to be a sin?”

“It’s the blood of Christ, it’s not a sin.”

“Eugh,” Crowley stuck his tongue out in a mock gag. “Fine, what about all that bread? And meat! The Lord give you the okay on that too?”

Aziraphale felt his face begin to warm more than it already had, “No. But, it’s just food.”

“Food.” Crowley snorted. “Right. Aren’t your lot big on not soiling the Almighty’s vessel?”

“He never said anything about food.”

“Gluttony.”

“It’s not gluttony! It’s…enjoyment. I never overdo it, I simply eat what makes me feel…happy.”

“Hm.” Crowley hummed. “How do you think he decides that, anyways? What’s a sin and what’s not?”

“It’s inef—“

“Don’t. Don’t say ineffable.”

“Then don’t  _ ask _ .” He snipped, before he had the wherewithal to think better of it. Beside him, Crowley laughed, something quick and sharp, with his head thrown back.

“Oh, Angel. I should spend more time with you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“It means that whenever we see each other, it feels like another part of the World is crashing down. But I like this. Not the whole, you know, crucifixion of the son of God, but  _ this _ .” He gestured to their surroundings, to the village, where candles flickered in the windows. 

“You like drinking.” Aziraphale chuckled.

“Maybe I do, but you do too.” The demon bumped their shoulders together. 

The walk back ended soon after, and Aziraphale let the pair into his hut. Miraculously, a fire was already lit in front of a feather mattress, which surprised neither the angel nor demon. What also didn’t surprise them was that Crowley managed to find a full skin of wine lying around, before bringing himself to sprawl on the mattress. He kicked his sandals off, and Aziraphale rolled his eyes.

“Make yourself comfortable.” But he sat down next to Crowley, moving to take his own off. Like this, Crowley didn’t seem…well he didn’t seem very threatening at all. Aziraphale was past the point of worrying about some nefarious plot of Crowley’s, but there was still the itch in the back of his head that screamed “He’s a demon! What are you doing?” What  _ was _ he doing? 

He took the offered skin of wine from Crowley, sipping while he watched the demon undo the scarf from around his hair. Was this some sort of tempting? If it was, Hell sure knew how to build their demons. A long expanse of slightly tanned neck, black lashes fanned out against high cheekbones…The one other time Aziraphale had seen a demon, they smelled of rotting flesh, the same which dripped from their face and hands. They were surrounded by flies, and their smile revealed yellow, cracked teeth. They had been disgusting. Demonic. 

So maybe it was heaven, because demons were of the same stock, right? Maybe Crowley had only just fallen those several thousand years ago, still spared from the wear and tear of Hell. If Aziraphale squinted, he could see it; Crowley with white wings, a white robe. In the dim light of the hut, he looked  _ some sort _ of ethereal, but from Heaven or Hell, the angel was unsure. 

Maybe he was just Crowley. 

“Angel.” Aziraphale jolted, shocked to find he had been staring. “The wine?” Crowley crooked an eyebrow at him and smirked.

“Yes, of course.” He passed it over, and their fingers brushed.

There was a pleasurable silence between them for some time, only broken by the snaps of the fire. After miracling away the empty skin, Crowley settled himself on his stomach, resting his head on his arms and closing his eyes. Aziraphale let his own eyes trail over the serpentine shape; his narrow shoulders, his long legs, and the curve of his spine at the base just  _ so. _ Aziraphale was beginning to think Crowley has fallen asleep (an odd, human indulgence he had yet to try), but then, “What about other temptations?”

Aziraphale choked.

“O-other temptations?”

“Oh, come now, Angel,” He cracked open one yellow eye, “You know what I mean. The fun ones.”

“I certainly do not.”

“So you’re telling me,” Crowley pulled himself up, sitting with his legs tucked under him, “that you’ve never even caught a glimpse at some of the interesting things humans get up to?”

“I’ve never—no! I don’t  _ watch. _ ”

“But you must’ve  _ seen _ .”

“What are asking, Crowley?”

“I’m asking,” And the serpent looked away, towards the fire. If he had been an angel, or even a human, Aziraphale would have thought he was  _ flustered, _ “have you ever tried any of it?”

“ _ Crowley _ !” Was all the angel could think to say.

“It’s just a question.”

“I-I—“ Aziraphale sputtered. “I’m an angel! Of course I haven’t!”

Crowley said nothing to that, and instead kept his eyes on the fire. Aziraphale huffed, letting out some of his indignation. There was no reason to act surprised at the questions; Crowley was a demon after all. Temptations of all colors and flavors were his specialty, and sex was most likely high on his list.

Something small inside him whispered that Crowley would be good at it, tempting humans into lustful sins. It whispered that there was a reason he looked like he did, that maybe the hair and the skin and the curves and angles were not just Crowley, or a roll-over from heaven, but perhaps, a calculated choice.

“Have you?” He asked, letting the heat of the wine move his tongue.

Crowley looked over at him, the same eyebrow cocked once more. 

“Just, with being a demon and all, and the-the  _ everything _ .” He gestured at the demon.

“The  _ everything _ ?” 

“You know what I mean.”

“I really don’t.”

Aziraphale bit his lip, trying not to positively glower at the demon. “How you…look.”

“Wh—“

“Like some sort of incubus! Because that’s it, isn’t it?”

“I think you’ve had a bit too much to drink, angel.”

“That’s not—then why? Why have you been doing this to me? Since I’ve met you, you’ve been nothing but a-a temptation. And now you’re here, asking if I’ve ever had sexual relations, and all I can think about is  _ you _ , Crowley.” He didn’t realize he was crying until he saw Crowley’s hand dart out, only to think better or it. Instead it hung in the air between them.

“Angel, on anything I haven’t been…” There was a screwed up quality to Crowley’s face, something tight, controlled, and coiled under his skin. “I haven’t been meaning to tempt you.”

Aziraphale sniffed, and then he laughed. “Why not take credit for my temptation? Wouldn’t that look great down there? Tempting an angel?”

Crowley shrugged, letting his hand come to a rest on the angel’s knee. “I don’t think our time together is any of their business, really. I do plenty of tempting during work hours.” He gave a small smile. “Have I really, though?”

Aziraphale let out a shaky breath, and whispered, “More than you know.”

There was a silence between them. Taunt. Heavy. And then, like the lunging of a snake, Crowley snapped forward.

The first touch of their lips felt like the first time Aziraphale landed in Eden. He had landed in the soft soil, newly minted body naked and laid bare for the entire garden. For the first time in all of Creation, he was alive; not just part of the all-knowing entity that every angel was, but really and truly alive. Kissing Crowley felt like the feeling of blood rushing through his body for the first time. It felt like the first time his heart beat. And then, Crowley swiped his tongue across his lip.

“ _ Angel…” _

Aziraphale pulled back so suddenly, their lips made a wet, popping noise. “I  _ can’t _ .”

“Why?”

“Because I’m an angel!”

“Sod all that. You drink, and you eat,” He reached out, lightly pinching Aziraphale’s stomach, “what makes you think He’s going to care if you have a bit of fun in the other departments?”

Aziraphale steadied his gaze on Crowley. His lips were slightly swollen, and they glistened in the firelight. His hair hung in his face, curls obscuring one of his eyes with shadow. Under his cloak, Aziraphale could see the rise and fall of his chest. 

“What if I fall?” He whispered, like somehow even saying the thought out loud would bring a thunderclap from the heavens. 

“You won’t.” Crowley’s hand moved from his knee to his wrist. His grip felt too hot; too hot where Aziraphale’s pulse thrummed under his skin.

“Why should I trust you?”

“You don’t have to, but…” The demon had a strange look on his face. Like back at the hut, the jolts of feeling were there again, berating him on all sides. Something about his expression, it seemed…well, it almost seemed—“I think you want to.”

Crowley was right, and maybe it was the wine, or maybe it was how raw his nerves were after the crucifixion. Or maybe it was Aziraphale needing to  _ know _ . Needing to trust  _ something _ , because  _ He _ sure as Heaven wasn’t giving much to go off of. Crowley was right, and Aziraphale was capturing the demon’s lips this time, kissing him with the energy of holy fire burning under his skin.

Their lips moved fast, opening too quickly to one another, causing their teeth to clack together. Aziraphale needed more, though, and he slipped his tongue into the demon’s mouth, bringing about a moan. Making a demon moan, now, there was something he didn’t think he would enjoy. And yet—

“Are you—?” Crowley breathed against his lips as they pulled apart. Aziraphale’s hands rushed forward greedily, all but ripping Crowley’s robes away.

“Please.  _ Please _ , stop talking.” He had worked the first layer off, and was now taking to the hem of the second. “If you keep talking, I’m going to stop.” Because if Crowley started talking, then Aziraphale was going to start thinking. Aziraphale did not want to think, he wanted to  _ feel _ . 

“Then say no more.” And Crowley pushed at his shoulders, leaning the angel back onto the mattress and climbing on top of him. “Unless, you want me to stop.”

“Whatever you do,” He ran his hands up Crowley’s thighs, feeling them tense, “do not do that.”

It was hard to say which of them miracled away the rest of their robes, but within seconds they were gone, and Aziraphale moaned against Crowley’s lips, already back on his. The demon arched his spine, leaning harder into Aziraphale when the angel raked his fingernails down his newly bare back. Crowley’s skin was so smooth, and the farther he moved, the softer it became. 

“Ah—“ Crowley sighed as Aziraphale took a particularly firm grip on the demon’s arse. It wasn’t anything like Aziraphale knew his own was, full and a good deal wider than standard, but it was soft, and there was just enough of it to give Aziraphale a good handful. He gave it a light, teasing swat, and Crowley rocked his hips down, meeting Aziraphale’s thigh.

If Aziraphale hadn’t been making the effort before, he was definitely making the effort now. He almost didn’t notice it manifesting until,  _ well, _ he guessed having an eager, gorgeous demon rutting their own hardness against his thigh made the process just a  _ bit _ smoother. It was suddenly there, though, full and insistent against his belly, trapped between him and Crowley. Crowley must have noticed, because he gave what sounded like a very happy hum.

“Now, angel,” His long fingers brushed up Aziraphale’s thigh, skirting closer to his hardness, “is that a flaming sword in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?” But Aziraphale didn’t get a chance to admonish him, because Crowley quickly moved onto skimming his teeth down his throat. His words were lost, stifled by a moan. 

Aziraphale hadn’t felt so sure of anything since Eden, since he gave up his sword to the humans. And this was the same, wasn’t it? With Crowley, kissing down his belly, fingernails raking in the wake of his lips, Aziraphale was giving up a part of himself to someone else, and not just anyone. He had given the sword to a human, and now,  _ now _ he was giving his body to a demon. He shuddered at the thought, and felt himself grow harder at the mere thought of Crowley  _ taking _ him.

There was suddenly a warm, wet feeling down…well, down  _ there _ , and Aziraphale yelped, sitting up. This caused Crowley to jolt back, his tongue still pinched between his teeth.

“Are you all right?”

“Yes. No—I, it feels—“

“Good?” Crowley quirked an eyebrow.

“Something like that.”

Crowley, for all the time that Aziraphale had known him, never smiled much. Yes, there was the smirk, the same which curved up one side of his face when he had done something particularly devilish or gloat-worthy. A smile, however, was rare. In fact, the last time Aziraphale remembered seeing it…well, it would have had to have been Eden; on the wall, overlooking Adam and Eve. Come to think of it, why had Crowley smiled like that? He was giving Aziraphale that same look now, yellow eyes blown wide, brows turned slightly down. His canines, only a tad bit sharper than a normal human’s, peeked over his bottom lip. 

“Could I…” Aziraphale found himself saying, before he could stop, “Could I stay like this?”

“You want to watch?” And there it was again; the smirk.

“I want to know what you’re going to do.” He settled down a bit, leaning back on his forearms, but propped up enough to where he could still see Crowley.

Without breaking eye contact, Crowley lowered his head back to where it had been, and licked a long, broad stripe up Aziraphale’s cock. A moan would have been insufficient to describe the sound that came out of Aziraphale’s mouth.

That was certainly enough to motivate Crowley, because he continued, placing small, open-mouthed kisses from base to tip, his hand coming up to massage the soft flesh of the angel’s thigh. He didn’t limit himself to just Aziraphale’s cock, though; no, he kissed everywhere he could. He kissed and licked his way under the base, and offered small nips to the sensitive flesh where stomach met thigh. On his thighs, pale and milky-white, he sucked hot kisses onto them, leaving red and purple marks up and down their expanse. 

“ _ Crowley _ ,”

“Mmm?” Crowley hummed, soothing his tongue over a particularly bright bruise. 

“Is there something—?”

“Something else?”

“ _ Yes _ .” He was fighting to keep his eyes open, trying as they were to roll back in his head. “ _ Anything _ .”

“I suppose,” Crowley’s mouth found its way to the tip of his cock, which was flushed and aching, and he—

“Oh!” That time Aziraphale’s eyes did close. His entire length was swallowed down, and none too gently. Crowley made a sound, a moan that matched Aziraphale, and it reverberated through his body, causing him to arch into the demon’s mouth.

Angels didn’t make efforts, not often. Aziraphale had made one, once or twice, more out of curiosity than opportunity. He had looked at it, been summarily unimpressed, and in a second it was gone again. He had never taken the time to actually touch it, to understand just how all the intricately developed nerve endings worked. Crowley was doing a fine job of it for him, though, working his mouth up and down the shaft, his tongue dancing along the underside and melting Aziraphale’s bones.

“ _ Crowley _ ,” He was greeted with another moan, and another after that as his hand found itself tangled in between the red curls. It was like his body was moving on its own, taking over in place of any and all brain function that had slipped away. He tightened his grip, feeling the strands between his fingers and  _ oh _ . Aziraphale noticed Crowley’s right hand was no longer resting on his thigh, but was snaked downward, down towards where the demon’s own hardness had been trapped against the mattress. 

“Crowley,” He repeated, watching as the demon’s spine curved in time with his thrusts into his hand. He was still working Aziraphale over, paying no less attention to lavishing long, hard sucks on his cock. His eyes were closed, and a flush played over his cheeks as he moaned into his movements, like nothing mattered but Aziraphale’s pleasure. He looked no less than holy. 

There was a heat brewing inside Aziraphale, starting in his toes and moving fast up his legs. It felt something like fear, or a thrill, and whatever it was, if Crowley stopped now, Aziraphale was sure he was going to discorporate. He moved his hand from the demon’s hair, down to cup his cheek. He felt his own hardness press against his hand.

“My dear boy,” Crowley’s eyes flicked open, the yellow now spread entirely across his eyes, “you are so beautiful.” And against Aziraphale’s cock, Crowley groaned, spilling pearly-white into his hand. 

Finally, the thunderclap had come for Aziraphale. It had to have been God, because what else would send electricity shooting up his spine, exploding all his nerve ending into sparks across his body? He could tell he was shouting, was falling backwards against the mattress and trying,  _ trying so hard _ to give more, and more, and  _ more _ of himself to Crowley, until like a wave, rocking back into the ocean, the sensation dulled, leaving him arched and gasping. Where his legs had (at some point?) wrapped around Crowley, he felt his thighs tremble.

Silence. Deep breaths.

“Satan, angel. Give a demon a warning, next time.”

“Was that—?”  _ Next time _ ?

“Congratulations, you’ve earned your wings.”

“Oh. Well, my goodness, that was quite the event.”

“Enjoy yourself?” Crowley was sitting up between his knees, now. He waved his hand, and the drying cum on Aziraphale’s stomach was gone. In its place, a wool blanket had appeared. 

“I should think so. And you?” Aziraphale flushed, thinking about the sight of Crowley, arching as Aziraphale cupped his face. Oh, his body was still very, very interested in that sight.

“Wasn’t exactly a chore, if that’s what you’re asking.” He grinned, tilting his head to the side. “And would you look at that. Wings still there, angel?”

They were. They were still heavy against his back, unmanifested but producing a tangible energy all their own. Aziraphale felt…exactly the same as he had, if not a bit lighter. Definitely more sober.

“Still there. Are you…?”

Crowley was dressed, his black robe back in place, pristine despite having been miracled to the floor. He looked like nothing had happened. 

“You know how it is. Wiles to engage in, temptations to be done. I’m a working man.”

“Oh. Well. Thank you, I guess.”

Crowley settled his gaze on him, his pupils slowly moving back to normal. For the second time in the night, his smile played across his face. There were no harsh lines, no tensions hiding between the shadows. There was just the soft look of a face that had somehow become so familiar in the firelight. There was something else, though, something…expectant. Like Crowley, too, was waiting for the thunder. 

Or maybe Aziraphale was just hoping he saw it. 

“Anytime.” He turned and walked out, and Aziraphale made no pretense of not watching him go.

When Crowley was gone, the angel laid back, pulling up the wool blanket to cover himself. He still felt light, like the crucifixion had been years ago. Crowley, Crowley,  _ Crowley _ claimed all the real estate in his mind, filling his body up like a warm, inviting liquid. It felt like the demon was spilling out of him, through his fingertips and his toes. There wasn’t a bit of him that didn’t ache for something more, and ‘ _ really _ ,’ he thought to himself,  _ ‘this is what the humans have been getting up to? _ ’.

He shook his head, trying to clear it of the alcohol and leftover fuzziness from his orgasm. Crowley was right, they were working men, and Aziraphale had things to do. He rolled over and looked at the fire, now on its last leg of the night. With a snap, there was another log on it, already crackling and bringing more warmth into the hut. Aziraphale had never been one to sleep, but he did meditate, more often than not. He allowed himself to slip into that state, joining the hum of the many and the divine. After everything that happened that night, he felt it was for the best to realign himself with the Host. 

He wasn’t sure how long he stayed like that, drifting with the host. When he did come back, however, it was daylight outside, and he was still naked. As he got himself out of bed, searching for his own robe, he noticed the room still smelled of brimstone. 

Perhaps, Aziraphale mused, finding his own tunic strewn by the door, if the opportunity ever presented itself again, he would ask Crowley to spend the night. That would be the kind thing to do, wouldn’t it? 

**Author's Note:**

> Hiya! My first time writing in a few years, and of course it's smut oml. Also, this was written before the confirmation that Crowley was female-presenting in Golgotha, so I was using male anatomy/pronouns. Hopefully, you can still appreciate the smuttiness.
> 
> Stay tuned for next time, where Crowley and Aziraphale might take a trip to the Roman baths together. Who's to say?
> 
> Kudos and comments appreciated!


End file.
